


Monster Under the Bed

by Run_of_the_mill



Series: Be a Good Boy, Harry [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Poor Harry, Voldemort is insane AF, Voldemort is such a creepy bastard, also i ain't great at smut, don't read this for the smut, fuuuu, he needs like a million hugs, i kinda wanted to focus more on the creep factor, the smut is kinda shitty and not very substantial, this shit is creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Run_of_the_mill/pseuds/Run_of_the_mill
Summary: Voldemort makes good on his terrible promise. Harry regrets not having put more effort into his murder-related education.There was a dip in the mattress and Harry knew what was happening, immediately.“Are you asleep, sweetheart?” asked Voldemort. Harry did not answer. If he pretended to be asleep, maybe the devil would just walk away. After all, what fun was an unresponsive victim? “You can keep pretending, Harry. It won’t stop me.” Harry should have known that Voldemort did not subscribe to common sense. He turned around to stare at the man.“Go away,” said Harry.“No.”“Go away.”“No.”“I don’t want you.”“Very interesting,” said Voldemort, even as he pulled the quilt off Harry’s body.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Series: Be a Good Boy, Harry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578418
Comments: 41
Kudos: 417
Collections: One Shot





	Monster Under the Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Restricted Work] by [Elenastor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenastor/pseuds/Elenastor). Log in to view. 



> Hmmm. I had to write a sequel to Such a Noble Villain. It was dancing a tandav in my brain and I was afraid my brain would be destroyed and made anew. So, yeah. Here we are. The smut is shitty. It's negligible. You may ignore it. My intention was more to creep you the fuck out.

There was a dip in the mattress and Harry knew what was happening, immediately.

“Are you asleep, sweetheart?” asked Voldemort. Harry did not answer. If he pretended to be asleep, maybe the devil would just walk away. After all, what fun was an unresponsive victim? “You can keep pretending, Harry. It won’t stop me.” Harry should have known that Voldemort did not subscribe to common sense. He turned around to stare at the man.

“Go away,” said Harry.

“No.”

“Go away.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you.”

“Very interesting,” said Voldemort, even as he pulled the quilt off Harry’s body.

“I don’t want you,” repeated Harry. The corners of his eyes stung with unshed tears and his nose prickled as if he’d just smelt some particularly aggressive cologne. Voldemort did not stop. He smiled at Harry, something gentle and meant to be reassuring. It did not help. Not when he was also pulling Harry’s shirt off at the same time.

“My good boy,” praised Voldemort, when Harry did not fight him. How could he? He was frozen stiff, limbs weighed down by fear. He knew what was happening. Voldemort had promised him.

“They’ll hear,” said Harry, speaking of his dormmates. Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean were sleeping peacefully, not even five feet from Harry’s bed. Voldemort nodded and pulled his long legs onto Harry’s bed. With a wave of his hand, the drapes closed, and Harry could no longer hear Ron’s snores.

“No one will hear, now,” said Voldemort. Harry nodded and, when Voldemort tugged, went to sit in the monster’s lap.

“I’m scared,” said Harry. The tears had moved past his tear ducts. They were silently falling down his cheeks. Voldemort nuzzled his cheek, kissing at the falling tears.

“I’m here,” he told Harry, rubbing his back. As if that was supposed to soothe Harry. As if that was supposed to make him feel better.

“You’re going to rape me,” wept Harry.

“Yes,” said Voldemort.

“Please don’t,” begged Harry. “I’ll give you a kiss.” It was worth a try even though it only made the Dark Lord chuckle.

***

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” asked Voldemort, later that night. He placed a soft kiss on Harry’s neck. They were lying in bed and Harry was the little spoon to his big spoon. No, it hadn’t been bad. It hadn’t been awful. It hadn’t hurt. To Harry, it had barely felt like anything. He hadn’t felt pain. He had felt mild pleasure. Enough to make him cum. Nothing to write home about. Not that Petunia would want to know. Harry giggled at the idea.

“What?” asked Voldemort.

“Nothing,” said Harry, waving it away.

“Tell me,” ordered Voldemort. Harry sighed. Of course.

“I was just thinking about what my Aunt would say about this,” explained Harry.

“What would she say?” asked Voldemort. He pulled Harry closer, enveloping him in a sort of bear hug. He tangled their legs together. The contact felt nice, after a lifetime of touch deprivation. Harry snuggled up to him. Stupid human body and its needs.

“That boys don’t get raped,” said Harry. At least, that’s what he reckoned she would think. Maybe she wouldn’t say it. Maybe she wouldn’t even think it, being a woman and all. Women took rape a lot more seriously than men did, somehow. Harry supposed that he would also take it very seriously, now that he was a victim.

“It could have been worse,” said Voldemort. “I was nice to you, wasn’t I?” Harry looked up and glared at him. Voldemort answered with that damned nice smile of his, the one that contradicted his actions. It was real shitty how he did bad things and he was all nice about it. It made Harry question the validity of calling his experience ‘rape’. Rape was supposed to be violent, painful, traumatizing. What Voldemort had done to Harry was gentle, sweet, mildly pleasurable. But…

“Just because you were nice,” said Harry, “doesn’t mean you didn’t rape me. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t fight you because I was too scared to. We both know that’s the only reason you didn’t hurt me.” Voldemort hummed and nodded.

“True,” he conceded. He stretched around Harry, popping his joints and sighing in relief.

“Old,” said Harry. Voldemort chuckled and buried his face in Harry’s pillow. “Are you going to sleep here?”

“Yes,” said Voldemort. “Why? Not tired.”

“Not yet,” said Harry. “I just got raped. The adrenaline is still in my system. Take responsibility.” Voldemort stared at him with a raised eyebrow and a bemused smile.

“Okay,” he said. He raised an arm and grabbed onto the headboard. There was a soft pop and Harry felt himself being squeezed through a tube. Voldemort had apparated them. With the bed. What the hell?

“Seriously?” asked Harry, incredulous. Voldemort smiled tiredly. He looked like he was ready to fall asleep, any second now. Fuck. “You could have _Splinched_ us! What were you thinking?!” Voldemort could barely keep his eyes open! The bastard. They could’ve _died_!

“You may not have noticed,” mumbled Voldemort, voice laden with sleep, “but I’m completely mad. Out of my mind. What is it that you youngsters say? Cuckoo, wasn’t it? I’m very much cuckoo.”

“I’ll say,” huffed Harry. He pulled the drapes back, intent on storming away.

His heart leapt into his throat.

“What the actual fuck?” He quickly backed away from the edge of the bed, unable to even look over the side. Voldemort’s arm came up and wrapped around his middle. Harry clung to it. “Where _are_ we?”

“Top of Gryffindor tower,” said Voldemort. The answer came as a whisper because Voldemort was halfway asleep, already. Harry turned around to see his eyes glazed over.

“ _Why?_ ” hissed Harry. He dug his nails into Voldemort’s skin, hoping to cause him pain and stopping him from falling asleep. It worked, somewhat. Voldemort opened his eyes, half-mast.

“Sorry,” he said. He wiggled his fingers, making the canopy disappear. “I meant to show you the stars.”

“Why?” repeated Harry.

“Count them,” said Voldemort. “You’ll fall asleep.” Harry stared, unable to follow this madman’s logic.

He counted the stars.

He didn’t fall asleep.

Harry spent the rest of the night glaring at the sky, hoping that Voldemort’s magic would keep the bed balanced on its precarious perch atop the tip of Gryffindor Tower. Voldemort slept like a baby, the twat. He held Harry close, as if they were lovers and had simply spent a very romantic night together. His fingers twitched against Harry’s hip and he muttered in his sleep. All unintelligible stuff. Nothing that Harry could ever use against him. Bastard.

Eventually, the sun rose. Voldemort snuffled awake.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, voice rough with sleep. Harry shook his head in the negative and Voldemort sighed. “That’s unfortunate.” He rose to his knees, crawling on top of Harry.

No.

No, no, no, no.

_No._

“Get off,” said Harry, pushing at his chest. This had already happened. Harry had been somewhat prepared for that. Once was fine. Once Harry could deal with. Once Harry could survive. Once Harry had steeled himself up for it.

Twice was horror.

“No, _please_ ,” begged Harry, even as Voldemort trailed kisses down his chest. He seized a nipple between his teeth and bit at it, lightly. He hadn’t done that the night before. The night before, he had been impatient. The night before, he’d been impatient and had only taken the time to prepare Harry so that he would feel as little pain as possible. He’d done that successfully. Great. There was no need to do this again.

“ _Stop_.”

“No.”

“ _Stop, stop, stop._ ”

“No.”

“ _Why not?”_ asked Harry. The tears were back. And he was even more scared than last night. How that was even possible was beyond Harry. But he was. _(It felt so good!)_

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Why should I?” asked Voldemort, tilting his head. “You like it.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“No, I don’t,” said Harry. “I hate it. Stop. You already raped me, once. That’s enough. So, stop.”

“I never said I’d do it only once,” said Voldemort, bemused. “Where did you get that idea?” He wrapped a hand around Harry’s cock. Fuck, this man was off his rockers. Harry constantly forgot.

“Please,” sobbed Harry. “Please, please, _please_.” He pushed at Voldemort’s chest, struggling to get away. He could not bring himself to be afraid of what Voldemort would do if he fought back too much. He was too scared at that moment.

“Harry,” chided Voldemort, as he grabbed on to the flailing limbs. They grappled for a few moments until, finally, Harry found himself on his side, wrists pinned in front of himself and legs under one of Voldemort’s strong ones. “Harry, look at me.” He seized Harry’s cheeks in one hand and turned his head till the latter was staring straight into Voldemort’s eyes.

“Shh, darling,” soothed Voldemort, forcing Harry to maintain eye contact. “Breathe with me.” Harry was still crying, but he forced himself to take in a stuttering breath, mirroring the rise and fall of Voldemort’s side. It helped. Soon, Harry was no longer struggling. Voldemort took that as a sign of compliance and lifted one of Harry’s legs, settling it on his own hip.

“Please, don’t,” Harry tried again, resigned to failure.

“Hush,” said Voldemort. “Keep your eyes on me.” So, Harry kept his eyes on Voldemort. He whimpered when he felt the head of the man’s cock slip into his still loose hole. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to thrust. Harry bit his lip, unable to pretend this wasn’t happening because of the hunger he was being forced to witness in Voldemort’s eyes. Even worse was the fact that it actually felt good. Not just okay, like it had been last night. No, this was something else. This was beginning to melt Harry’s insides.

“Stop,” cried Harry. But Voldemort did the opposite of stop. His thrusts became more erratic. They increased in speed and Harry found himself stifling moans. “I hate you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” panted Voldemort, just before coming.

***

“Don’t you have things to do?” asked Harry. They were still in bed, atop Gryffindor tower. Voldemort seemed to be content to just laze the day away, drawing invisible patterns in Harry’s skin and peppering kisses up and down his neck, every now and then.

“Multiple things,” answered Voldemort. “But it can all wait.”

“Because you’re shagging a ‘little boy’?” asked Harry, derisively.

“Yes,” chuckled Voldemort.

“Well, I have things to do,” complained Harry. He tried to slip out from under Voldemort’s arm, but was quickly dragged back.

“It’s Sunday,” said Voldemort.

“I have Quidditch practice,” protested Harry. Bullshit. Quidditch practice had been yesterday. But Voldemort did not need to know that. “In fact, I’m already late. They’re probably upturning the Castle, looking for me.”

“They started a while ago,” sighed Voldemort, popping his joints like an old man, again. He looked pleased by the end of it, so Harry tried to subtly mimic him. By Voldemort’s smug smile, he hadn’t been quite so subtle. “A missing bed is quite suspicious, I think.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Yeah.” He hadn’t thought about that. Of course his friends would get suspicious if his entire bed was vanished when they woke up. “Well, aren’t you done with me, yet? I don’t want to spend the entire day in bed. And I’m starting to get hungry. Take me back.”

“Must you whine so much?” sighed Voldemort.

“I’m a teenager,” sneered Harry. “It’s what I do.” Voldemort huffed a chuckle at that.

“Alright,” he said, ruefully. “I’ll take you back. But, first, a gift.” He wiggled his fingers and, from his discarded pile of clothes, at the foot of the bed, rose something silver. “Your hand, darling.” And, just because he wanted this to be over as soon as possible, Harry extended a hand. Voldemort clamped the silver thing around his wrist. It turned out to be some gaudy piece of jewelry. An intricate silver bracelet with a blue stone.

“What’s this for?” asked Harry, confused.

“I didn’t think you would want a tiara,” answered Voldemort, mischief in the corners of his smile. Then, he raised a hand to hold on to the headboard and, again, there was a soft pop, some squeezing, and Harry, Voldemort, and Harry’s bed apparated away.

“Son of a—” screamed someone. Ron, probably. There was some jumbled chatter outside the curtains as a number of people began to speak, all at the same time. Harry supposed that Voldemort’s silencing charm had worn off. He hoped it had been _after_ the second rape. Harry had been embarrassingly loud, that second time. Voldemort ignored everything, dressing slowly and carefully before tucking Harry’s naked form under his blankets. Then, he pulled the curtains open.

“ _You!_ ” Harry looked around Voldemort to see Professor McGonagall pointing her wand at the Dark Lord. Voldemort sighed but did not answer her. Instead, he turned to Harry.

“Sleep,” he ordered. “And don’t leave bed unless you must, today.”

“Go away,” demanded Harry

“No.”

“Go. Away.”

“No,” said Voldemort. “Not yet. Give us a kiss.” There was an indignant squawk behind him.

“The Royal we?” asked Harry, raising a brow.

“Yes,” said Voldemort, smiling his damned benign smile. Cunt. Harry didn’t comply. Voldemort rolled his eyes. There was water in a glass on Harry’s bedside table. It rose and separated into several sharp ice needles that floated in the air, pressing against Professor McGonagall and Harry’s doormmates’ skins. “Be a good boy, Harry.” Harry would have punched him if he didn’t know what Voldemort would do, the moment he disobeyed. He rose onto his elbows and pressed a kiss against Voldemort’s waiting lips.

“There,” said Harry. “Now, go away.”

“Alright,” said Voldemort, chuckling. He pressed a kiss against Harry’s hair and left. The ice stayed up for a while, immobilising Professor McGonagall. It was probably on purpose. So the bastard could get away.

***

The next few days were melancholy for Voldemort. He’d come to the conclusion that he might have fallen in love with Harry Potter. How odd. He hadn’t even known that was possible. Nevertheless, here they were.

“How did you know you were in love?” he asked Lucius at one dinner. Several other Death Eaters were gathered at the table and a few, including Narcissa, cast him nervous looks. There was some curiosity, as well. But it was mostly nervousness. Voldemort supposed he had a track record of asking benign questions for nefarious purposes.

“I just— I just knew,” stammered Lucius. “There isn’t really— It’s not… explainable?”

“I see,” said Voldemort, contemplatively. “Well, that seems about right. I am, quite possibly, in love.” It wasn’t until he’d said it out loud that the idea seemed real to him. Now that he had said it, he was rather convinced that this was indeed the case. He was very much in love with Harry Potter. Why wouldn’t he be? Harry was a sweet boy, attractive, smart. He wasn’t boring, like most of Voldemort’s sycophants. And such a good fuck.

“I must be in love,” he told Lucius, who paled till he was almost a similar shade to his platinum blond hair. “It would seem I am in love.” And, so, he left the table and went off to research love. He thought he might need some help and where better to find good advice than in books?

**Author's Note:**

> *Stands next to a vat of steaming acid* "This way for the acid bath! It's free. Come along, folks!"
> 
> P.S.: I know it ends a bit abruptly. But, I think there's more to this story. Listen. Listen. Listen, this is in no way a promise that i'll come back to this story ever again.


End file.
